Cutlery
by The Hapless Quill
Summary: A collection of drabbles centred around a Bellatrix/Voldemort pairing. Written for the 5 Drabbles Competition.
1. Cutlery

Hello! This was written for the 5 Drabbles Competition by alyssialui, in which I was given a Voldemort/Bellatrix pairing and five prompts - one for each drabble. I hope you enjoy!

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 _18th March 1961_

"The boy has got the _right idea_ ," Cygnus Black addressed his wife, an ornate gold cup of wine in his right hand and his left indicating how passionately he felt about the subject. "Yes, the enigmatic name and the mass muggle murders last week is a tad elaborate, but it is all propaganda, it has just got to be _done_."

"This kind of ugliness is necessary." Walburga replied, abandoning her dinner to slap a hand down on the polished wood of the table. "If the muggle-born filth do not exist then they no longer pose a threat to our world. This ' _Lord Voldemort'_ as he calls himself is the only one determined enough to orchestrate the cleansing of our world so let him have free reign, I say."

Cygnus nodded gravely, taking a long sip from his cup. "Yes, well, in any case this is not a matter to discuss around children." He said once he had emerged. He inclined his head toward the three Black sisters, finishing their supper with forced neutral expressions. The discussion ended as Cygnus and Walburga returned to their own meals, and a heavy silence fell across the fine table.

Bellatrix stared down at her plate, following the intricate design of the gold with her eyes. She tried in vain to not scowl at the food assembled there, not quite hungry but knowing that she would be reprimanded should she not finish a meal.

Her Mother and Father – her entire _family_ – upheld specific expectations of how the wizarding society should be. Bellatrix had been taught from the moment that she could talk that when she went to Hogwarts next September she would be sorted into Slytherin. Other houses, she understood, admitted _muggle-borns_. Bellatrix knew that muggles were filth and obtained their magic by stealing it from other, more deserving pure-blood witches and wizards. She recalled the many Latin lessons she had endured and being taught the correct stance for wandwork, and a wave of fury pulsed through her. Muggle-borns did not _deserve_ to go to Hogwarts, not when she, Bellatrix, had worked so hard all of her life to be a good witch.

Bellatrix began to cut her chicken, but rather than the Coq Au Vin she saw muggle-born children who would try to usurp her in wizarding society. Her fork pierced the white flesh, tearing it apart, mutilating it until satisfaction settled in the pit of her stomach.

Yes, her Father was right. Lord Voldemort did have the right idea.


	2. Fuchsia

_15_ _th_ _June 1981_

The muggle girl on the floor sobbed and twitched, lying in a pool of her own vomit. She was young, a pretty little thing, and wearing a fuchsia dress. Bellatrix recalled being forced to wear dress robes of a similar colour to an event that her family had hosted, long before the Dark Lord had saved her. The memory made her despise the filth on the floor more.

"Bella, will you get a _move on_ ," Rodolphus snarled, one eye cast wearily to the door. "He'll be wanting news."

Bellatrix's mouth curved into a smile as she turned back to face her whimpering victim. Yes, he would be waiting for news of their invasion and she, _Bellatrix_ , would be the one to deliver it to him. She shivered imperceptibly at the thought of the Dark Lord bowing his head in satisfaction, the way his eyes would seek out Bellatrix because he would _know_ that she had been the one to work this mastery. Her heart throbbed with anticipation and blood pounded through the hand holding the wand that was directed toward the filth. This – _this_ – was what she had been born to do, to prove, to _serve_.

Bellatrix flicked her wand upwards and the filth emitted a piercing scream. She felt intoxicated at the power emanating from the wand in her hand, the pain that was gradually breaking the filth before her.

" _Please!_ " the filth gasped, and those pretty little eyes were looking imploringly at Bellatrix as though she were the last hope she had left in this world. Bellatrix bent down beside her victim, her movements slow and tantalising, and tasted the blood sliding down the girl's face.

"Just as filthy as I thought." Bellatrix rose and conducted her wand once more, every beat the filth's heart pumped less bringing her closer to the praise of the Dark Lord. "Have it your way, then."

The filth's shuddering screams resounded in Bellatrix's mind long after their owner had lain still.


	3. The Poison Tree

_27_ _th_ _November 1995_

There was a shoot growing through a gap in the wall of Bellatrix's cell.

She did not understand how it had come to be there, for the fortress sucked the life from anything that may have had a chance to live. And yet here it was, sprouting through the stone in a tangle of leaves and impossibility.

Bellatrix heaved herself unsteadily to her feet, using the damp wall to support her. It was dark inside the cell, but she could just make out the sprout by the moonlight that had dappled the wall through the bars on her door. She felt a sudden and intense temptation to rip it from the wall and to tear it apart, but as though a restraining hand had been placed over her heart she heard _his_ voice, as he had always used to placate her.

 _Patience Bella. The fun is yet to begin._

Despite the darkness that smothered the cell, Bellatrix knew what colour the sprout must be. A deep, rich green, just as the tree she had once burned with the Dark Lord had been. They had called it the _Poison Tree_ , for it had been liberating to pick off the muggle filth who had come running to investigate the source of the commotion with the burning venom of their wands.

The memory of the Dark Lord resounded within Bellatrix's mind, for he had not come for her. She had rejoiced at his return to health when she had felt the bite of the mark, faded on her arm, and had known what it must have meant. But she would wait, watching the bars of her door with shrouded eyes for tomorrow and the next day and the _next day,_ because although he had not come to save her today there was still hope.

There was still tomorrow.

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 **A/N:** Of all the prompts I was given, I found this the most difficult to write. It is inspired loosely from the poem The Poison Tree by William Blake.


	4. Lips of an Angel

_It's really good to hear your voice saying my name_

 _It sounds so sweet_

 _Coming from the lips of an angel_

 _Hearing those words it makes me weak_

 _February 12_ _th_ _, 1996_

She watched him as he robed himself and moved over to the window, gazing pensively into the grounds of the Manor that lay unrecognisable in the darkness. Her skin burned from his touch, as though marks had been scorched into her skin from where each of his fingers had slowly caressed her that night. The room felt too hot around her, and the bedsheets wrapped around her naked body were a straightjacket separating her from the ecstasy of his embrace.

"My Lord" she breathed, but found that other words failed her. She allowed the bliss of saying _his_ name once more envelop her, for in the darkness of the Azkaban cell all had seemed lost and never again had she thought that she would lie in this bedchamber, and find that the word felt natural on her lips once more.

She had suffered from the fifteen years that she had spent inside the fortress. Her tongue grazed across the holes in her mouth where teeth had fallen out, and a hand toyed with the hair that was no longer sleek but unkempt and dishevelled.

But hearing the sounds of his love again had made her feel so weak, and for this moment her hands did not trace the body of the wreck who had escaped from Azkaban, but the woman of beauty and power whom she had been when she had first entered his service.


	5. Jumping

_May 1_ _st_ _, 1998_

" _Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched."_ Voldemort surveyed the followers who had congregated around him, watching him with hunger and reverence, and a deep sense of satisfaction settled in the pit of his stomach. " _Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."_

He took the wand away from his throat and held it in his hands, clearing his thoughts by the comfort of the worn wood and the heavy silence that had fallen around him. The castle stood some distance away from the land on which his army stood; he knew that, even now, the teachers and students within must be preparing for the fight in which they would inevitably be defeated. He could almost smell the fear and adrenaline inside of the castle, borne on the night air toward him.

He felt almost detached from the castle which had once been the only home he had ever known, a castle which he had once considered to be impenetrable. How extraordinary it was that he, Lord Voldemort, would be the one to break it now.

He sensed rather than heard Bellatrix approach his side. He anticipated her need for touch, to _attack_ , and how her eyes would bulge and her chest would heave at the prospect of what was to come. He could have requested that she jump from the cliff on which his army stood to prove her loyalty to him, and she would have met her death in an instant.

"Patience, Bella." He murmured. "The fun is yet to begin."


End file.
